The Wicked Games of a Gentleman, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Preview of The Sinful Nights of a Nobleman
Read all three irresistible romances…
Also by Jillian Hunter
Copyright Page
For Jacqueline, with all my love
Chapter One
LONDON
1815
Lord Drake Boscastle had less than two hours to suffer through the party before his assignation with one of the most sensual women in all of Europe. If the evening went as well as he expected, he would make the celebrated English courtesan, Maribella St. Ives, his next mistress. He certainly hoped she would prove to be worth the rigmarole required for their rendezvous, or he would feel like a hell of a fool. He had spent a month corresponding with her and had presented her with a small fortune in gifts to prove his sincerity. Maribella’s private agents had conducted an investigation to research his character. The last Drake had heard, even his cook had been questioned on what his master ate for dinner.
His indigo blue eyes darkened with irony at the thought. Any thorough check into his past would have yielded a treasure trove of scandals and indiscretions. It seemed, however, that Miss St. Ives was not put off by his reputation. Apparently he had met whatever qualifications she desired in a protector. He had been summoned to meet her tonight in a private suite at Audrey Watson’s salon on Bruton Street. Salon, of course, being a euphemism for the exclusive bordello that its half-world hostess, Audrey, maintained.
His valet had efficiently packed a few personal necessities and a fresh change of clothes, not bothering to ask whether his master would be home before morning. Drake was rather hopeful he wouldn’t return for a week. His life had been curiously devoid of pleasure lately, sex included. His capacity for enjoyment seemed to be diminishing by the day. He couldn’t put his finger on the precise reason for his sense of dissatisfaction, but he was half-decided that if this affair with Maribella did not improve his outlook, he would return to soldiering.
“Counting the minutes?” his younger brother Lord Devon Boscastle asked from behind him.
Drake glanced around, grinning in reply. A small flock of debutantes stood gazing in breathless anticipation at Devon, whose openly playful charm made him appear far less of a threat than his more intense older brother. “I’m down to seconds at this point,” he said dryly.
Devon lowered his voice. “Do let me know if Miss St. Ives has any sisters in the market for a protector. That is, if you can talk coherently at the end of the evening.”
Drake shook his head and cast a sardonic glance across the room. “I’m going to be talking all night. Haven’t you heard that she’s famous for her wit?”
“And that’s why you’re interested in her? For conversation?”
He punched his brother on the shoulder. “Go dance with the debutantes, Devon. They’re dying for you to ask.”
“I can’t dance with all of them at once. Why don’t you help me out?”
He shook his head in amusement. “I’ll leave the innocents to you. Anyway, I think I ought to conserve my strength.”
One of their mutual male friends sauntered past them. “I suppose we won’t see you at the auction tomorrow, Boscastle,” he said to Drake in an envious voice. “Damn lucky devil.”
Drake’s answering laugh was suddenly drowned out by the blood-rousing strains of a country dance. He cast a halfhearted glance about for a partner. He’d prefer the sister or wife of a friend rather than a timid debutante who would gaze at him in hopeful trepidation or chatter her empty head off after the set.
His restless gaze lit on a young, nicely built brunette in a plain lilac dress who was staring across the dance floor. She looked lost and…maybe a little frantic. She had an interesting sense of panic about her and an even more interesting silhouette. Good enough for what he had in mind. He only wanted to squander a few pleasant minutes with the woman, not marry her.
He strolled up behind her, clearing his throat at the cursory glance she granted him before turning away. Ignore him, would she? That was a challenge his devilish impulses could not turn down. “Lost a sheep?” he asked quietly, his chin brushing her ear.
Her soft white shoulders stiffened. He knew perfectly well she was aware of him, even if she refused to turn to meet his regard. “Yes, in a manner of speaking,” she answered distractedly.
At that point another man might have taken the hint and melted away. Instead, he studied her profile, the imperfect patrician nose, her stubborn chin, a lushly shaped mouth. His gaze drifted in lazy appraisal down her shoulders to the ivory curves of her full breasts above her neckline. “Shall we look together?” he inquired, masking his thoughts behind a polite smile.
She angled her head slightly to regard him. Her oval face bore an expression of practiced disdain that slipped as her eyes slowly met his. She blinked. He stared at her, enjoying his own rush of pleasant surprise. She was really quite lovely. He saw her bite the edge of her full bottom lip a little nervously before she retreated in a half step. She wouldn’t ignore him now. She recognized a threat to female virtue when she saw it.
“Come on,” he said, gently taking her arm. “We’ll hunt for your sheep on the dance floor. It just so happens that I’m good at hunting.”
She stared down guardedly at his hand before returning her shrewd gaze to his face. The shadow of a smile lifted those lushly curved lips. “Wolves usually are.”
He laughed, pleased but surprised at her response, and drew her forward. She gave a strong twist of resistance, although there was no room for her to escape. Guests had already filled the void where they’d been standing. The ballroom was thronged elbow-to-elbow with elegantly dressed lords and ladies. Loud ones, too. Drake was reminded of a barnyard filled with clucking hens and braying asses, which didn’t exactly speak well of his opinion of Society as a whole.
He could barely hear what his reluctant partner was attempting to say above all the chatter and music of the orchestra. “Tell me about him later,” he said in answer to her distressed look.
He didn’t particularly want to talk, or dance for that matter. He simply wanted to pass time with this pretty stranger before a night of bliss-inducing sex with a courtesan he’d met only once; and even during that meeting he and Maribella had not exchanged more than a few provocative words. This whole affair hinged on rumor and innuendo, which was what probably made it so intriguing.
“It’s not a him,” his partner said rather forcefully as he drew her resisting figure into the steps of the dance. An unexpected surge of arousal stirred his senses at the pliant warmth of her body. There was a pleasant sturdiness about her that appealed to him. She was an accomplished enough dancer to follow the pattern without seeming to pay attention. She seemed to be more concerned with looking for whomever it was she’d lost than with his efforts to disarm her.
His hooded gaze studied her as she faced the stage. She wore her hair back from her face, a heavy cluster of chestnut brown waves that enhanced her creamy skin. No jewelry except for a pair of pearl earrings. Her lilac muslin dress hadn’t been designed to impress anyone, either. In fact, she looked like a governess, or a lady’s companion. Which would explain why she was looking for lost sheep. He’d probably get her dismissed for dancing with him.
A middle-aged gentleman bumped into her as the set reconfigured. Drake gave the man a look and reached out his arm without thinking to steady her. Her full breasts pressed through his white linen shirtfront, another flagrant shock to his senses. He allowed his hand to fall to the rise of her well-rounded backside. Oh, yes. She felt very nice, very promising. He preferred a substantial woman in his bed.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, reaching back to pluck his hand away. “Someone’s fingers are straying where they don’t belong.” Her pretty oval face reflected a frowning disapproval that made him smile. She had hazel eyes, he realized. Dark brown and green dappled light at the same time. Intelligent and not entirely innocent.
“You don’t need to beg me for anything.” All of a sudden his thoughts went a little wild. “Why don’t you enjoy yourself for a moment?”
She looked as if she’d swallowed a boiled onion whole. “Enjoy myself?”
He caught her wrist. “Aren’t you allowed any pleasure at all?”
“I’ve lost my client,” she said in vexation before the dance parted them again. “And I’m not here to enjoy myself.”
“Do you want to go outside and look for her?” he asked quietly, the epitome of chivalrous concern. It was as hot as an inferno in the ballroom, and he wouldn’t mind leading her astray in the dark for a minute or two.
“Outside,” she muttered, her arched eyebrows drawing into a deep scowl. “I’ll throttle the wits out of her if that’s where she’s gone.”
He started to laugh. He really wasn’t making much of an impression on her. He trusted he’d have better luck later in the evening. “Do you always have this much trouble keeping your missing lamb in line?”
“An army of Hussars couldn’t keep that girl in line,” she said in exasperation. “Not that she wouldn’t enjoy challenging them, mind you.”
“Is that what you do?” He followed her to the French doors that led to the garden, welcoming the excuse to leave the stuffy room. “Keep unruly persons in line?”
“That describes my present position.” She stopped abruptly, reaching behind her for the door.
A proper gentleman would have stepped back to allow a respectable distance between them. Drake did not bother with the pretense. “Perhaps you could keep me in line?” he said, provoked by some inner demon to tease her. “Quite a few people have called me unruly.”
“I’m sure they have. However—”
He slipped his hand around her waist to open the door for her. For a moment he thought she would finally react.
“—you’re about two decades older than my most unruly clients,” she finished instead in a dismissive voice.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own. Self-discipline, and all that.”
He laughed in feigned offense. “Two decades? Suddenly I feel like Methuselah.”
The doors swung open. The damp night air counteracted the heat that rose between them. “Actually,” she murmured, glancing out into the shrubbery with a faint smile, “I think Mephistopheles is more what I had in mind.”
“Mephistopheles?” he asked, guiding her outside.
“Yes.” She stepped out onto the terrace where several couples lingered in conversation. “The devil.”
“I know who you mean,” Drake replied. He led her casually toward an unoccupied corner of misty moonlight. “I don’t think it’s fair to label me thus on such short acquaintance, though.” If she got to know him better, she would undoubtedly have ample justification to call him any number of names.
“First impressions are quite reliable in my experience.” She peered over his shoulder as a cluster of guests drifted past them.
“I don’t seem to be making much of an impression at all,” he said with a good-humored grin.
He touched her flushed cheek with his gloved knuckles. He demanded—and suddenly received—her full attention. “Couldn’t your duty be delayed for a few moments?”
She looked up into his face, her hazel eyes hinting that she might not be as immune to him as she wanted him to believe. “Do you have any idea how much trouble a woman might find in a few moments?” She shook her head, a note of reluctant amusement in her voice. “That was not an invitation. I was referring to my client.”
He bent his head to the curve of her chin. “May I at least kiss you before you go?” he asked, determined to satisfy his curiosity if nothing else. That soft mouth of hers could not taste as delicious as it looked.
He did not wait for her permission. Capturing her strong chin in his fingers, he slanted his mouth over hers and took possession of her tempting lips. She drew in a breath and stood immobilized, silent, and oh-so-enticing. He felt a quick flair of answering fire in his blood. She gave a faint sigh, the merest exhalation of breath, as he shifted his weight, molding her to the hard contours of his body. How long had it been since he had felt even the slightest tug of temptation?
“That,” she whispered in an uneven voice, angling her head to the side, “will be quite enough, thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.” He lifted his hand to her soft rounded shoulder. “But it wasn’t quite enough.”
“Yes, it was.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“It—”
“—wasn’t,” he said in a coaxing undertone. “Look, I’ll prove it to you.”
She turned her face slowly back to his. This time when he kissed her, she parted her lips, allowing his tongue to penetrate her mouth. She buckled unexpectedly. He caught her without a second’s hesitation, aware that he was in peril of forgetting where they were.
“I told you,” he said thickly.
She shivered lightly, looking dazed and desirable.
“Told me what?”
He closed his eyes and summoned his control, crushing her to him for one final second of self-torture. When he let her go, her eyes shimmered with a bewildered passion, and her breasts rose enticingly with the quickened measure of her breath.
“If you don’t mind,” she whispered, putting her hand to her heart, “I’m going to leave you now. Thank you ever so much for the dance, but it so happens that I’m occupied for the rest of the evening.”
“So am I.” He smiled down ruefully into her moonlit face. The moist fullness of her mouth invited another kiss. “Although unplanned pleasures are the most gratifying, in my experience,” he said, aching to pull her back into his arms.
Her answering laugh surprised him. “I’m sure you’ve experienced plenty of them.”
He grinned as she gathered her skirt in hand to edge around him. He was glad that they would part as friends. “I won’t deny it.”
“I doubt you deny yourself anything,” she retorted.
He grasped the delicate lace of her sleeve, gently tugging her back toward him. “Then why deny myself now?” he asked, gratified at the shiver she gave as their bodies touched.
She stared back at him as if she saw straight through his invitation to the hollow core of his heart. “Sometimes denial is good for the soul.”
“Wait—at least tell me who you are. My name is Drake.”
She hesitated. He lowered his hand and lounged back against the stone wall, realizing that he was going to lose her. It seemed that he should at least know her name. He liked that she had a mind of her own as well a sensuality that begged a man to bed her, and that she was neither painfully insecure nor full of herself, like the other ladies who were brave enough to flirt with him. It made him wonder whether she’d ever taken a lover. Devil that he was, he wouldn’t have minded being her first.
“I don’t have time for the sort of games that wicked gentlemen like to play,” she said, her smile dismissive. “I work too hard to give in to temptation.”
At least he thought that was what she said. He watched her as she slipped back into the ballroom, vanishing into the crush of guests. For a moment he considered going after her. But he didn’t want to get her in trouble. If he hadn’t had such grand plans for the night, he might have pursued her. God knew he was tired of whores and vapid young girls who giggled or blushed at every word he uttered.
God knew he was tired of life, actually.
Chapter Two
Eloise Goodwin paused inside the ballroom, taking a second to recover her wits. She felt warm and pleasantly discomforted from the inside out. The dancers moving in the shifting gold shadows of candlelight only made her head whirl in another dizzying wave. Well, that charming diversion had not helped the situation at all. Her client could have sneaked off anywhere, with anyone, during the few illicit moments that her overtaxed chaperone had been waylaid by that rogue.
Breathtakingly handsome beast, she thought grudgingly. Her heart fluttered against her ribs. She’d known the minute she looked into his beguiling dark blue eyes and strongly sculpted face that his smile invited capricious pleasures. Hadn’t he cared he’d been dancing with a mere companion? An impoverished gentlewoman who was at her wits’ end and had no time for seduction? Or maybe that was why he had singled her out in the first place. She was a plump pigeon ripe for the plucking in a sea of graceful swans.
She released a rueful sigh. At least he was accomplished at the art. Eloise could not remember a single instance during her career when she had been anywhere near as tempted to submit. Of course none of the country gentlemen who’d pinched her bottom or followed her into the pantry to steal a kiss had possessed a fraction of this man’s finesse. His kiss had absolutely devastated her.
She glanced back unwillingly at the doors leading to the garden, wondering if he had returned to the ballroom. She’d glimpsed a moody disposition behind his handsome mien. It beckoned, as darkness often did, but it also put her on guard. One must have no sympathy for the devil.
